Published 4:00 am, Sunday, January 20, 2002

Photo: SHANE T. MCCOY

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In this handout photo from the Department of Defense made available Friday Jan. 18, 2002, Taliban and al-Qaida detainees in orange jumpsuits sit in a holding area under the watchful eyes of military police at Camp X-Ray at Naval Base Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, during in-processing to the temporary detention facility on Jan. 11, 2002. The detainees will be given a basic physical exam by a doctor, to include a chest x-ray and blood samples drawn to assess their health, the military said. (AP Photo/Shane T.McCoy, U.S. Navy) less

In this handout photo from the Department of Defense made available Friday Jan. 18, 2002, Taliban and al-Qaida detainees in orange jumpsuits sit in a holding area under the watchful eyes of military police at ... more

2002-01-20 04:00:00 PDT Guantanamo Bay Naval Station, Cuba -- Five times a day, the call for daily prayers goes out across the camp. Many of the prisoners, told which way is east, kneel on their towels and bow toward Mecca. They may be only dimly aware of their location in the larger scheme of things, but prayer time gives them direction.

Being able to practice their religion is one of the rights of prisoners under the Geneva Conventions, and it appears to be one of the easiest for their American captors here to accommodate. There is only one Koran here, but more are on order.

Deciding what to do with the prisoners is more difficult as their legal limbo lengthens in what is fast becoming an American penal colony. They are not being interrogated and have not had access to lawyers. Nor have they been charged with a crime as Washington ponders their fate.

In the last week, 110 men have been flown in from Afghanistan, and room is being made for 1,900 more. They live in 8-by-8-foot chain-link cages with roofs made of wood rafters and corrugated metal tops. The cells are surrounded by a series of chain-link fences crowned with brambles of razor wire. The military calls it Camp X-Ray. The name is appropriate -- you can see right through it.

The treatment of these prisoners is drawing increased scrutiny from human rights groups and allied governments. The International Committee of the Red Cross is here assessing their conditions. Critics say the prisoners should be accorded the rights of prisoners of war under the Geneva Conventions.

Over the last three days, military officials allowed a tightly controlled group of 20 journalists to view from a distance the camp and the arrival of planeloads of prisoners. They wanted to demonstrate that security is industrial-strength, that the prisoners are lethal, and that they are being treated humanely. The military is also proud of the increased efficiency of its routine here, although its mission is anything but routine.

An hour before an Air Force cargo plane lands with the latest group of prisoners, the soldiers on the ground are ready. Three Humvees are lined along the base's only landing strip, topped with gunners with .50-caliber machine guns. A fourth has a grenade launcher. A five-ton cargo truck holds two dozen Marines in full riot gear, and camouflaged snipers crouch on the grassy hillsides. A helicopter patrols the airfield, and rescue equipment stands by.

When the plane, a hulking gray C-141, lands, soldiers quickly ring it. Like Secret Service agents guarding the president, they keep their backs to it and their eyes on everything around it. Others train their sights on the cargo bay,

from which the prisoners will emerge.

Cpl. Randy Tulepan, 21, of East Norwich, N.Y., is among the Marines in riot gear here. On Sept. 11, his father was at the World Trade Center, holding a seminar for Morgan Stanley on the 63rd floor of the second tower to be attacked. He managed to escape, and now his son is here to protect the lives of suspects who may be linked to the attacks.

Tulepan said the image of his father groping down the stairwell of the trade center was seared into his mind. But he said that rather than wanting to harm the suspects, he wanted to be sure they were safe in case they had useful information.

"It's worth more to the country having them alive," he said.

As the prisoners shuffle out of the back of the plane, their fluorescent- orange knit caps are brilliant against the gray tarmac. Officers here said the planes have been so cold that they have given the prisoners caps and denim jackets. They wear leg shackles and handcuffs, and many wear mittens, a bizarre sight on the sun-baked airfield, where temperatures exceed 90 degrees and the blue Caribbean laps at the shore.

Marines frisk the prisoners, from cap to slippers. Two military photographers snap their pictures. The soldiers wear yellow rubber gloves during their searches -- as protection against disease, they say, and also because of a rumor that on the 27-hour flights from Afghanistan, the prisoners were deliberately relieving themselves in their orange jumpsuits instead of the planes' bathrooms, from which the doors have been removed.

The prisoners wear large goggles covered with black tape, effectively blinding them. Some also have ear cups, to block out the plane's loud roar. All of this contributes to what human rights groups say is a violation of the Geneva protections.

As each frisking ends, a big Marine grabs the prisoner by the jacket shoulders and practically picks him up -- many are small in stature -- and puts him on one of two yellow school buses.

The buses are driven to a nearby ferry for a short hop to the windward side of the Navy base and a 15-minute drive to the camp. Along the way, they pass an outdoor cinema, the only McDonald's in Cuba, several clumps of suburban tract housing and an elementary school. Small blue-green mountains, mangrove swamps, land mines and shark-inhabited waters lie beyond.

The camp stretches over two or three acres. It looks like the construction site it is, and more holding pens for prisoners are being built. Seven plywood watchtowers ring the camp, with large American flags plastered on to face the prisoners.

The floors of the cells are freshly poured concrete, and the sides and roofs are welded together, not bolted. "They could unscrew bolts," said Ron Stocker, 40, a Navy steelworker who helped build the camp.

The prisoners sleep on inch-thick foam mats. They are given three meals a day and extensive medical examinations. A few found to be underweight are given Ensure, an enriched drink.

Pvt. Tina Costa, 20, of Manteca (San Joaquin County) distributes food. "They show no feeling toward me," she said of the prisoners. "Most of them look away," and that seems fitting, she said, since the Taliban shrouded women's faces and barred them from positions of authority.

The Americans know that some of the prisoners staged an uprising in a prison in Afghanistan that led to a CIA agent's death, and they cover their name tags in case the prisoners are taking names for revenge.

The warden, Col. Terry Carrico, 44, from Muldraugh, Ky., says it is his job to plan for all possibilities. "If I was captured as a military soldier by a foreign country, one of my missions would be to try and escape," he said. "So I would just apply that to them."